


【 sixth sense 】

by ToasTea



Series: 【 trails of fire 】 [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, F/M, Nudity, Post-King's Landing, Sort Of, Unresolved Sexual Tension, bring milk you might get burned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-17 02:22:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20613362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToasTea/pseuds/ToasTea
Summary: "The feeling she shares with him is more than emotion and better than love's motion."Daenerys gets upset with Jorah so she decides to punish him in her own special way.





	【 sixth sense 】

**Author's Note:**

> I had cravings that have needed fulfilling for awhile now. So here they are. Together. In hot, steamy water. Alone. Naked.
> 
> Can be a sequel to【 sun dance 】and a standalone as well. Not necessary to read the first part.
> 
> Not beta'd. Apologies for any spelling and grammatical errors.

“What happened?” Daenerys asked, though it was more of a demand than a question.

“A minor...disagreement down at the fish market, Your Grace,” replied Samwell, trying to keep pace with the queen’s brisk steps. “N-Nothing the queensguard couldn’t handle-”

“Is that what men are calling it nowadays?” she scoffed, turning on her heel so abruptly that he almost slammed into her. “If it was _just_ a disagreement then why did a maester assign him to a private bath upon his return, pray tell?”

“W-Well I would assume Ser Jorah would need a bath after a long-”

“It is barely past noon. Ser Jorah’s patrol does not end until sunset.”

Daenerys was no fool.

She recognized the men who had returned to the Red Keep with minor scrapes and bruises.

The same men who served under her knight’s wing during his afternoon rounds about the city.

Their leader, nowhere among them.

They all kept their mouths shut when she questioned his whereabouts.

They exchanged knowing looks between each other while avoiding hers as a child would when scolded.

But Daenerys heard volumes from their silence, enough to put the pieces together.

He is their lord commander, but also their friend and mentor.

She is their queen, their savior who had broken the vicious wheel they had sworn to for centuries.

Torn between friend’s promise and an oath crafted by honor.

A conflict stirred further by their awareness of her relationship with their commander.

It was only Samwell Tarly’s impeccable timing that saved them from the wrath that burned within her.

Even then, the young maester feigned ignorance of her presence. Whistling an unknown melody as he shoved swathes of bandages underneath his sleeve.

Nothing went unnoticed by her. Especially since she was ill informed of her beloved knight’s location and condition.

She sealed his fate with one word.

“Samwell.”

He flinched, the blissful tune wisped away along with what remained of his soul.

Since then, he’d been adamant about keeping her away from the private bathhouse.

“Uh,” he replied, racking for answers she knew would be more excuses. “Well, I-I mean…a private bath warrants a desire for privacy?”

In another timeline, she would have laughed at his dubious response.

Instead, she rolled her eyes.

“It’s not his desire if you’re the one who put him there in the first place.”

Without waiting for a response , she marched forward. A dangerous mix of anxiety and rage reverberating in the hall with her every step.

Whatever excuses Samwell had left in his arsenal would fall on deaf ears the rest of the way.

* * *

Steel doors swung open and clashed against stone walls behind them. A thunderous sound that rivaled even the roars of her children.

Her sudden presence and the aggressive echo of steel had shaken her knight from his resting form.

She stopped just shy of the steps leading into the steaming pool.

Her amethyst gaze piercing straight through him as though beckoning whatever form of defense he had.

A chance to explain his state, or at least what she could see above the water line.

But neither of them spoke at first.

A silence impregnated by two people whose love for each other burned brighter than the Essos sun.

One unwilling to yield.

The other’s initial shock washed away by realization.

Even Sam couldn’t find any words to disturb what they had created.

He moved first.

“Khaleesi,” he addressed, “let me-”

He moved to stand, but a simple task proved too much. He winced, his arm immediately clutching his side as the other caught himself from slipping.

Her brows furrowed in worry, though she said nothing as her eyes began roaming without her consent.

The movement jostled the water around him, lapping against his bruised torso.

She grew envious of the water then, wishing it were her tongue instead licking the wet hairs on his broad chest. Her lips taking its place, kissing the small cuts below the fold of his pectorals and above his collar bone.

Her fingernails twitching to be the herbs cascading around his body, teasing his solid yet supple skin with its leaves.

Droplets of water outlining the curves of his sinewy strength, teasing the crux between her thighs.

Her eyes locked with his again, and she knew he saw.

An awareness of her desire for him reflected in his eyes.

A desire he was quickly beginning to mirror.

Damn it all. How dare this man quake her core in such a situation.

As quickly as it had intoxicated her, she forced it under and sobered her regal facade.

She straightened herself, hands clasped underneath her bosom, eyes steeled.

“Samwell.”

“Y-Your Grace-”, the boy behind her stumbled on his words and cleared his throat before righting himself. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“His condition.”

It would be beats before Sam spoke again. Whether it be from nerves or the unspoken tension accompanied by the soft sizzle of steam.

“A few...cuts and bruises, Your Grace.”

“And?” she urged, her eyes never leaving the man before her.

“Well the worst one isn’t really that bad at all. His armor took the brunt of that hammer and his ribs are pretty bruised.

His armor took the _brunt_ of a hammer. Most likely a blacksmith. Or a seller.

Then, had it not been for his armor…

The grip between her hands tightened at the thought.

“I mean, you should see the other guy though, Your Grace. He might have been much bigger than Ser Jorah and got a few good licks but I had no doubt in my mind that our Lord Commander was fully capable of-”

“Sam, please.”

“Yes, all superficial,” he replied, righting himself from his previous ramble. “Nothing that won’t heal with a few days or less of rest, Your Grace. I’ve drawn the herbal bath to soothe muscle aches, lessen any chances of infection and hasten his healing process.”

She takes a moment to absorb the young maester’s words.

Jorah tears his gaze away from her, unable to hold it any longer as guilt weighs down on his hunched shoulders.

“Thank you, Sam. You may leave.”

She could hear Sam shifting as he bowed.

Jorah glanced over at the boy, sharing an apologetic look with him as he moved to close the doors. A movement that went unnoticed by her.

The gentle click of steel behind her served as a soothing contrast to her previous display. A sound that closed out any interfering presence that demanded a queen’s facade.

She releases a deep breath she’d been unknowingly holding as her eyes soak in his marred body.

The flame that once writhed and twisted at his secrecy within her simmered to a mere flicker.

Though its snap still held a degree of ferocity..

“You were reckless,” she states after a breath.

“And you were rather stern with the Tarly boy,” he deflects softly.

“A fate you imposed on not him but also the men who follow you.”

He looks away, shifting as much as his body would allow, his face contorting in cadence with the aches as he settled.

“You should not plague your mind over one knight, Khaleesi. You have Seven Kingdoms to look after.”

“I have Seven Kingdoms to look after and one stubborn bear to fret over.”

He chuckles, a low rumble that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“A queen chooses who may occupy her thoughts, does she not?”

He lifts his eyes at her words and she sees it then.

Again.

The lack of self-worth, thoughts spared for anyone but himself. All encapsulating in her throat.

She swallows. It’s better now, but they still had a long way to go before he could see what she saw in him.

But he was worth every step.

“I know you were also trying to protect me,” she adds, cleansing her previous thoughts.

He always wanted to, even when he couldn’t.

“Yes,” he replied, sighing in defeat through his nostrils.

She steps closer until her hands can rest atop the pool’s edge, the steam wafting against her cheeks, now more potent with her proximity.

“I will always worry for you as you will for me, my bear. That is a burden that you and I will always share until the end of our days. No one else’s.”

She watched him lean back in his seat and close his eyes, contemplating her words.

“Forgive me, Khaleesi,” he whispered after beats of silence.

Protecting each other. Fighting for each other. Worrying for one another. Who cares and loves the other more.

It was an endless cycle, the only wheel she could never break so as long as she loved him.

Though, it was one they would always conquer together. No matter how many times it reappeared.

But what she couldn’t conquer alone was resurfacing as he gave her a better view of his profile and upper body.

The steam suddenly didn’t seem as thick as the tension that had coiled around her.

The exposure of his neck, an invitation for her lips and teeth.

Her mind flashes to the sensitive spot by his pulse and underneath his earlobe. The way he squirms when she nips at those areas during their many bouts of passion.

The way his chest expands with each breath he took. The scars that mingled with the bruises and cuts decorating his body. A tapestry of his devotion to her and the people of King’s Landing.

His slight stubble that lined his strong jawline, provoking the tip of her fingernails.

A twisted bud of pleasure planted itself beneath her core.

Her tongue wetting the bottom of her lip as the air around her seemed to dry out despite their surroundings.

No.

She was still upset at him for worrying her.

But it was mixing dangerously with the heat and need for him, a blend she gladly succumbed to.

Daenerys stepped back and climbed the three steps to the top of the bath. Her movement recapturing his attention immediately, albeit confused.

She would teach him, and she would make sure he remembered.

She would carve this into their future together.

So that the next time he endangered her heart with such recklessness, this memory would serve as his sixth sense.

“Forgiveness,” she begins, her heated gaze never leaving his as she unclasps her shawl and tosses it to the floor, “is something I will consider…”

She sees the bob of his throat as he swallows, his eyes watching her free the clasps around her dress.

It pools to her feet with little effort, the warm air a caress to her naked skin. The sparks between their heated gazes and his sharp inhale from his parted lips, a pleasant buzz.

She smirks as she spots movement from his seat beneath the waters, no doubt a reaction stirred within her bear.

His eyes reflecting his arousal, the sudden set in his jaw, his slow but deepened breathing.

She savors his reaction and steps forward.

The steamed water was a gratifying sensation to her unburnt hyde. The herbs framed her form, then parted for her with each step as though they were ushering her towards him.

“...after you have faced your punishment, Ser,” she finishes as she takes the final step beneath the waters. The water grazing the underside of her breasts.

Daenerys presses forward, the remnants of her long locks trailing behind her in waves.

She moves slowly as any predator would when approaching their prey, until she stands before him.

His gaze roams, taking sips on every part of her.

And when they lock with hers, the blend of affection and awe never ceases to palpitate her heart.

For a moment, she almost crumbles under the weight of his affections.

But she resists the urge to give everything to him right there and then.

Instead, she relishes the reaction she causes him, reflecting his smirk as his hands reach for her waist.

“If this is my punishment,” Jorah whispers, voice hoarse from lust, “then by the grace of the old and new let it be so-”

A finger to his lips silences his him, as well as the smug look on his handsome face. The other gently grasps his wrist, halting his advances.

The confusion on his face was near adoring.

Smiling, she moves to straddle him, mindful of his injuries.

His natural scent an intoxicating mix of pine and sea, his deep breaths caressing her skin. The way her breasts pressed against his solid form as droplets slid from their bodies and became one at their touch.

The power she held over him as she knelt above his seated form, her knees framing his hips as her hair draped over his features.

He did no favors to the slickness between her thighs.

She wanted him just as much, but she would not yield.

At least, not now.

His hands move at their own desirous discretion, but she halts them again, a whimper rumbling from his chest.

“You will listen,” she begins by the shell of his ear, feeling him shudder underneath her, “and you will answer if needed.”

She reaches up, fingernails scraping against his beard. His breath grazes her fingers as it quakes with need.

She can feel him fighting against his urges.

The way he leans into her touch, begging for more.

The conflict between need and obedience reverberating in his tense muscles.

“What you will have will not be given to you so freely however,” she continues against the patch beneath his earlobe, “if you get too eager with your desires, my bear.”

His only response is a sensual hum, words weakening under her touch.

Pleased, she seats herself on his lap where her core meets his manhood.

Her face mere inches away from his.

“What happened down at the fish market?” she asks, her hand trailing down his cheek to the furs on his chest.

She watches him swallow before he responds.

“A...minor scuffle over payment,” he quakes, his hooded eyes never leaving hers.

“That’s it?” she beckons, gently tracing the cut beneath his pectoral.

“A blacksmith...and a-hm,” he groaned at the fingers teasing his nipple.

“And who?”

“And the merchant,” he breathes. “Pricing.”

“Pricing, huh” she whispers, gently taking his bottom lip with her teeth. “Then what?”

He almost loses it then, his hand emerging from below. A motion that sends waves lapping over the herbs drifting around them.

But stopped a mere breath away from her blonde locks.

An action that curves her lips into a smug, lopsided smile that only taunts his predatorial gaze.

She simply releases his lip and pushes his hand back down to the depths with but a finger, placing a soft kiss on his nose.

“As you were saying,” she finally says, tracing the scars along his neck and collarbone.

“Pricing…” he mumbled. “Blacksmith got upset when an agreement couldn’t be made.”

She hummed against his heated skin, inviting him to continue as her lips traced his scar given to him by a Dothraki bloodrider on his neck.

He inhaled sharply, arching his neck for better access.

“They fought. Huge commotion. Citizen alerted my battalion.”

“Go on,” she mumbled, continuing her ministrations on his neck has her hand roamed further down his chest.

“We arrived on time, pulled out his weapon on the merchant.”

He growled as her fingers ever so delicately ghosted over his bruised ribs beneath the water.

“Refused to cooperate,” he continued, his husky timbre an erotic drawl that sent waves of pleasure to her center. “Fought us.”

“And how did that fare, pray tell?” she asked, eyes roaming over his battered body as her fingers traced his defined deltoid.

He grunted at her ministrations, but there was a ghost of a smirk playing at his lips as his hooded eyes flickered between her hues and lips.

“Behemoth of a man. Strong, but not The Mountain. Not smart either.”

She peppered gentle, teasing kisses along his jawline.

“Almost got...one of my men. Saved him.”

Ah, that explains his bruised ribs.

“Well you’re quite the hero now, aren’t you good Ser?” she hummed against his skin, trailing down his neck to scar at his sternum.

“Just-hm...doing what I swore to do, _Khaleesi_,” he breathed, purring her title in the way he knew enticed her.

It almost worked.

He was trying to fight back.

Jorah Mormont fought with the strength of ten mainlanders on the battlefield.

Alone with her, his strength went unrivaled as he could resist and retain decent cohesion with just as many.

If not, more.

But she was a dragon, and dragons do not yield so easily, even to their beloved bears.

So she retorted with a slow and ginger thrust against his arousal, dousing the fire around them with more lust and desire.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that.”

He grunted at the motion, but stood his ground. His grip flexing and tightening around his seat, head cocked to one side, glancing up at her with heat akin to dragonfire.

“Notice what?” he feigned.

“What did I say about keeping things from me, Ser?”

“You never said anything about playing along, _love,_” he teased, growling her exclusive name on purpose in that husky timber.

The same intonation that brought her comfort when she needed it and pleasure when she craved it.

She had set up this punishment game for him, and now her womanly desires found itself at the edge of falling into the same pit.

Ser Jorah had always adapted well to circumstances that were not in his favor.

This was no different.

Damn him.

She was supposed to be upset.

Even now, she would not yield.

If he could fight with the strength of ten mainlanders, then she could resist with the strength of equal dragons.

She answered him with one rhythmic motion with her hips against his desire, one that wiped his smug look off of his face.

Her hands braced against his chest as she leaned closer. Her nose grazing his skin, lips ghosting over his.

Breaths mingling, intoxicating one another. Her lips gently sucking at his lobe as her hands gingerly roamed his sinewy body.

The tension in his arms as he struggled to control himself, his shaky breath that melded with a strained groan.

The resignation as his eyes rolled to the back of his head before closing at her services.

If it weren’t for the bath, there would be nothing to cushion the wetness slicking her thighs.

And the only thing that could temper her greed were two simple knocks.

Her hands slid up his broad chest, fingers carding through his soft, damp hair. Drinking in the arousal adorning his features.

Perhaps, four knocks.

His hands eventually released their grip, but honor barred them from reaching for her.

Her lips found his hardened as her hands outlined curves the droplets of water once pathed on his biceps. Sweat mingled with water, soft waves lapping against her motion, caressing his resistance and her urgency. Her hum of pleasure as her lips worshipped-or punished his marred body, a symphony mixed with his growl. His eyes opened and when she glanced up, it was like gazing at a bear salivating for his next meal-

A bang at the door broke the spell between them.

“Mormont! The day is still young! You can fuck her after she’s done meeting with people who require her audience!”

The banging persisted.

“Your Grace? Helloooo! Your audience is required!” she could hear the dwarf clearing his throat. “I mean that with respect, of course,” he grumbled.

“I will be there in a moment, Tyrion,” she replied, earning a growl from Jorah.

“Right… ‘a moment.’ Is that what they’re calling it nowadays, Seven Hells.”

She heard him mumbling more but his voice eventually grew distant.

Certain he was gone, she turned back to her knight and giggled at his disheveled state. Her laughter, warranting a smile of his own.

She removed herself from him and stood, evoking a hum of displeasure from his chest.

“Patience, my bear,” she soothed, running a wet hand through his locks and fixing its appearance.

She ran her hand down his cheek, tilting his chin up towards her before leaning down.

“Listen to the maester, and perhaps we may finish what we started later tonight,” she whispered, her breath caressing his ear.

He was shaking, but not just from pleasure.

“Quite a bold command from the one who climbed into the same bath as me against the same maester’s orders,” he chuckled.

“I’m not the one who can barely stand, Jorah,” she jested, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek.

Against her will, she removed herself from the bath, dried, and dressed.

She reached for the doorknob, but chanced one more glance at her bear behind her, a wicked glint reflecting in her hues.

“I’m sure you can find a way to...quell yourself in the meantime, my sweet bear.”

She giggled at his groan, moreso when he sunk further beneath the water.

Daenerys ached for him, but duty calls and he endeavored through his punishment.

A great service merits a great reward.

And perhaps now, her bear would think twice about awakening the dragon like this again.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic = my last two brain cells trying to go to sleep at 4am.
> 
> I tried something new. Smut definitely still isn't in my comfort realm yet, but I finally dipped my toe. Hopefully it was ok at least.
> 
> I appreciate you all for taking the time to read this, as well as leaving kudos and comments. I don't respond unless I really have to, but I genuinely appreciate them. Reading your thoughts are truly the butter to my croissant. Thanks a bunch.


End file.
